


East Winter is just my Sheer Luck

by WinterScars



Series: Sheer Luck [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 05:05:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12314322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterScars/pseuds/WinterScars
Summary: Sherlock has the mind of a scientist and a philosopher, but if his memories had been rewritten long along. Replaced with lies, delusions to cover truth and pain. What does that really make him?And never forget... what might we be able to deduce about that soften heart?





	East Winter is just my Sheer Luck

The phone buzzed wildly upon his dusted dresser, shining wood oak with not a hint of markings. That an untrained eye could see at least, if not the cell it was the flat ringing madly just a few floors down. Yet it echoed up the stairs into the suite as if it were inches away.

Meanwhile, the curtains just a few were drawn up in the den while the rest remained down bringing shade and darkness over a few patches in the room. New and remodeled. The broken remains of the blown suite now but years away…  
Nothing stirred inside, (as far as anyone could tell) nobody moved. The faucet didn’t even drip anymore in the kitchen or the bathroom sink, it was eerie and twisted. Yet comforting altogether.

Sherlock lay in his bedroom upon his armchair as a woman laid between his knees her hands cupping at her ears but again nothing moved, nothing stirred. It was silent. His arms were around the women, not in any particular way. It wasn’t romantic, or sexual, it was limp..and oddly protective. Eurus was the woman, his sister… /little sister/ he was protecting, the delusional depressed. Mentally unstable one in the family that could no longer be turned to him. 

Had Sherlock managed to go soft? Or was he just plain manipulated? Something more perhaps, the elderly brother instinct deep into his subconscious that he never remembered. Never knew or practiced. It just happened to him, it relieved him to know. His heart had nothing to do with his mind… the brain of a scientist, a philosopher. The heart..nobody knew what that held.

It wasn’t until a sudden slam of the main door that brought Sherlock's attention to his bedroom door and he simply stared. Saying nothing at first before finally the door to his room opened and he spoke, “Don’t.” don’t what. 

Don’t speak? Don’t take her? Don't judge? Though I know what you're already thinking by that expression dressing up on that face of yours.  
“Don’t wake her.” his tone dull, flat, yet firm all at once if even possible. If not, he just made the impossible possible.

{{WORK IN PROGRESS NOT YET COMPLETE OR COMPLETELY ADJUSTED}}  


The phone buzzed wildly upon his dusted dresser, shining wood oak with not a hint of markings. That an untrained eye could see at least, if not the cell it was the flat ringing madly just a few floors down. Yet it echoed up the stairs into the suite as if it were inches away.  
Meanwhile the curtains just a few were drawn up in the den while the rest remained down bringing shade and darkness over a few patches in the room. New and remodeled. The broken remains of the blown suite now but years away…  
Nothing stirred inside, (as far as anyone could tell) nobody moved. The faucet didn’t even drip anymore in the kitchen or the bathroom sink, it was eerie and twisted. Yet comforting altogether.

Sherlock sat in his armchair which happened to be a planned dark spot. A woman head rested on his lap as she lay herself against his legs but remained on the floor itself. His hand was upon her sleeping numb head not in any particular way. It wasn’t romantic, or sexual, it was limp..and oddly protective. Eurus was the woman, his little sister, protecting the delusional depressed mentally unstable one.  
Had Sherlock managed to gone soft? No one really knew if he was to begin with. Had she manipulated him? Perhaps more in depth, the elderly brother instinct deep into his subconscious that he never remembered. Never knew or practiced. It just happened to him, it relieved him to know she wasn’t dead yet. It was selfish of her to even consider taking something that wasn’t even her own..

It wasn’t until a sudden slam of the main door that brought Sherlocks attention to his bedroom door and he simply stared. Saying nothing at first before finally the door to his room opened and he spoke, “You’re late.”


End file.
